


the great game

by akaparalian



Series: we're usually about to die [3]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 11:26:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akaparalian/pseuds/akaparalian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their objective is of the utmost importance; it's more than just a matter of interest. It's a matter of <i>pride,</i> and it's his duty as praetor to make sure it does not fail. This <i>will</i> be the year they finally win the annual Camp Jupiter/Camp Half-Blood Capture the Flag grudge match.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the great game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mooitstimdrake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mooitstimdrake/gifts).



> First of all, I'm posting this at three in the morning, so please don't judge me for my ability to title fanfiction. Secondly, I sort of... well, there's some canon in there somewhere. Probably.

The woods are unfamiliar territory, of course, and they feel alien; the light filtering down through these trees is a different shade of green than the undergrowth-light he's used to. The shadows have a different timbre, the pitch they hum low in the back of his mind vibrating at a speed that's just different enough to be almost disconcerting. But he adapts quickly; he always has.

Tim could feel Kon and Cassandra on either side of him, their simple arrowhead formation cutting silently through the undergrowth. There are no two people he'd rather have at his flank, especially not on a mission as critical as this one. Their objective is of the utmost importance; it's more than just a matter of interest. It's a matter of _pride,_ and it's his duty as praetor to make sure it does not fail.

This _will_ be the year they finally win the annual Camp Jupiter/Camp Half-Blood Capture the Flag grudge match.

Tim's been working on their strategy all year, and he hasn't been doing it alone; he has some friends in the Hunters of Artemis, these days, and though it's strange working with Greeks, he and Donna Troy had a very similar interest in bringing Camp Half-Blood down a peg, because the way he understood it, this sort of match was a pretty common occurrence between Half-Blood and the Hunters, too. It had been completely worth the looks Frank and, gag, Octavian had given him for communicating so much for so long with the Greek side of things, because he had very, very rarely been more confident in a plan than he was in this one.

Frank is leading the entire rest of the Camp Jupiter contingent in a very organized defense of their flag, which is sequestered deep in the trees on the other side of this massive forest, save for Bart Allen and a few other children of Nike or otherwise fleet-footed campers, who are doing laps of the Jupiter side in border patrols. Meanwhile, the only ones actually invading enemy territory are Tim, Kon, and Cass, such a small, specialized attack that Tim couldn't help but think that there was no way the Greeks would see it coming, especially not since Annabeth Chase was out of town (and he couldn't thank anyone but the gods for _that_ stroke of luck; save for maybe his predecessor, Reyna, Tim'd never met anyone quite as sharp as Annabeth Chase). It was very nearly perfect; it was very nearly foolproof. There's a potent mixture of adrenaline and euphoria surging through his veins, and judging from the grin on Kon's face, he isn't alone in that sentiment.

That is, of course, until a growly voice says "Okay, where the hell is everyone?" at a distance that can only be described as way, _way_ too close for comfort.

The three of them skid to a (thankfully mostly silent) stop and, without even taking the time to communicate with so much as an expression or a hand signal, duck down and take cover behind the three largest trees they can find. Well, actually, Tim and Kon hide behind the trees; Cass, bless her, scales hers as quickly and silently as any spirit Tim has ever seen, and he's seen more than his fair share, and then scoots herself out far enough on a branch to get a good look at who'd found them, using the heavy summer leaves as cover.

What she sees made her pale a degree, and while that certainly isn't comforting, it doesn't tell him whether whoever had so nearly stumbled upon them is especially skilled, a large group, or both. The signs she flashes him do, though - Cass' own special, augmented variant of American Sign Language is incredibly useful at times like this, as much as Tim doesn't actually want to hear that they'd almost been found by none other than Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, and Wally West, three of the most experienced demigods he's ever met, all three of them having survived into their late teens, not to mention seeing the Battle of Manhattan and, in Jason's case, the Underworld, which usually means one picks up _quite_ a few interesting tricks. He nearly groans aloud.

"What?" Kon mouths from the next tree over, and Tim shakes his head and flashes him a very clear "Three" before pointing out towards the patrol. Kon isn't as well-versed in Cass' signs - he prefers the more standard hand signals - but there's certainly no misunderstanding that, and based on his scowl he gets the message loud and clear.

Tim turns back to Cass, about to start trying to strategize a way out of this mess, but before he has a chance to sign anything up at her he freezes in horror, staring at the back of Jason Todd's head, mussed-up black hair looking like it hasn't seen a pair of scissors in just slightly too long. By some miracle, he hasn't noticed either Tim or Kon, but he's looking up and it can't possibly be too long before he finds -

" _There_ you are!" he crows, and Cass jumps from her perch at the same instant that Tim darts out from behind his tree, Kon doing the same in his peripheral.

They surprise the other two enough that they're able to run right past them, but the element of surprise wouldn't last long; if Tim remembers correctly, Wally was a son of Hermes, Bart's cousin in more ways than one, and more than fast enough to catch up to them. Dick Grayson is no slouch, either; if Tim had to hazard a guess, he'd say the guy is probably already up in the trees in pursuit of Cass, swinging from branch to branch with all the easy grace granted to him by the years in the circus that Tim knew about for perfectly reasonable reasons, _not_ because of any stalkerish boyhood crushes before he'd learned that the both of them were demigods.

Sure enough, he can hear Wally's footsteps getting closer by the second, and he frowns in concentration, unsure what to do - and saved by Cass descending from above like some holy terror, trajectory carefully calculated to take their pursuer to his knees and succeeding with great prejudice.

Kon lets out a whoop from his side and Tim laughs happily in response, both of them laying on the speed as Tim concentrates just _so_ and, with a sharp yank in the back of his mind, successfully leads them both into the shadows.

He doesn't take them far - he knew Kon _hates_ the feeling, and anyway it takes a lot of juice - but it's far enough that he can hear sounds of frustration in the distance, where a combination of Cass and their disappearance has thoroughly confused their pursuers. He sighs in relief, leaning one shoulder on Kon for a moment as he recovers from the slight strain of the shadowtravel and then straightening again, gesturing to the north and saying, "Come on, flag's that way."

Kon nods, and they move out again, down one member of their party but almost certainly very, very close to the prize. Well. If the information the Hunters had given him was accurate, anyway.

The girls haven't let him down yet, though, and just minutes later they finally - finally! - reached the end of their search; the trees begin to thin out, and he and Kon take cover before they're thin enough to reveal them and sneak forward, crouched low to the ground and slowly nearing the clearing where their goal awaits. There are just three guards, all of them feminine and all three formidable enough that Tim knows them on sight; Barbara Gordon, Dinah Lance, and Helena Bertinelli, the friends who'd gained the nickname 'Birds of Prey' because, well, they were pretty fucking dangerous. The name is a bit of a stretch, maybe - though as a daughter of Athena, Barbara has _some_ relation to actual birds; owls definitely count - but the meaning got across just fine.

Tim takes in a deep breath, lets it out, settles in to plan. Okay. This he can work with - the girls were talking quietly to each other, giving them a little leeway to do the same without getting heard, and they were staying put, meaning the two of them had a little time. "Okay," he says after a minute, looking over to make sure Kon's listening before he quietly continues. "I'll be the cloak, you be the dagger. I use the Mist to make you invisible, you steal the flag," he clarifies when Kon levels him with a look that implies unflattering things about his communication skills.

"Sounds good to me," Kon murmurs, staring calculatingly into the clearing; the girls are arranged in a loose triangle around the flag, each of them facing out to look out into the forest. There's enough space between them, though, that he should be able to get through just fine. "How much time can you give me?"

Tim considers that for a moment. "Not long," he hedges, eyes narrowing; the long trek here took more out of him than he'd planned on, with that shadowtravel added in. "A minute, tops."

Kon grins, turning back to face him. "Cool," he says simply, and Tim is reminded exactly how glad he is that they get to work together so often. "Hit me."

He frowns in concentration, eyes screwing shut as he feels for the fabric of the Mist at the back of his mind and twists, pulling it over and draping it on Kon like a blanket. When he opens his eyes, it takes a second to remind himself that his boyfriend is still there; the strain of twisting the Mist into shape, though, makes it all too obvious. "Go," he gasps, already feeling it like a steady burn in the back of his mind, and Kon goes.

He has to be careful to extend the cover of the Mist to take care of the flag, too, when an invisible hand snatches it from its position, but he manages to hide both Kon and the flag until a touch on his arm tells him it's okay to let go. He has to do it slowly enough that he doesn't make some sort of embarrassing noise - and gods above, if he ever gets really, truly used to the way that feels he'll eat his shoes - but as soon as the pressure is gone he feels worlds better.

Kon is looking at him with concern, the orange flag clutched protectively against his chest, and Tim nods at him, breathing, "I'm okay. Let's get out of here, though," and starting his crouching exit from the little clearing.

By the time they hear the shout of surprise that indicates that one of the three girls has realized their flag is MIA, they are far enough out that they felt comfortable laughing quietly to themselves before they lay on the speed. Running back to the border is a blur, the forest slipping quietly by and feeling more and more familiar by the second. There's an elated singing in his veins, and Tim can almost picture the looks on everyone's faces when Chiron announces they've won. Maybe he's become a little bit obsessed with this stupid game, but then again, it's about to pay off, so it's all fine. Really. His obsession can die and rest in peace and everything will be _fine_.

He thinks that right up until he and Kon get within about fifty meters of the border and the trees start to thin out, revealing not just the thin strip of land that separates him from victory but also the unthinkable.

There, in his stupid gaudy orange t-shirt, coming from deep in the heart of Camp Jupiter's territory, is Jason Todd, running like a bat out of hell with the flag clutched tightly in his hands. Beside him is - Tim makes a choked noise even as he's running - _Annabeth Chase,_ who isn't even supposed to _be_ here, much less be running with the other end of the flag clutched in _her_ hands, and if anyone is to ever ask Tim, in the future, where exactly he thinks his life started to go wrong, he will probably tell them that it was this exact instant.

He snarls instinctively, something snapping somewhere in his head and forcing his legs to move faster, even though between the Mist and the shadowtravel, he's exhausted. Kon madkes an angry noise from behind him and accelerates to match, but they're still too far out. They're making the same time Jason and Annabeth are, and Tim can practically feel months of planning and practice and patience crashing down around his ears. By the time they actually make it to the border, it barely even feels like it matters anymore; he'd already withdrawn into cursing his very existence.

He doesn't need Chiron to announce the result. He hates the stupid smirk on Jason Todd's stupid face, hates that Annabeth was precisely the unexpected twist he didn't need her to be, hates that he hadn't had enough juice to just shadowtravel them to the border and be done with it, but there's nothing he can do about any of those things now.

Because of him (and Jason Todd and Annabeth Chase, the jerks), Camp Jupiter and Camp Half-Blood have just tied in the annual capture the flag game.

For the fourth year in a row.


End file.
